


The Big Chase

by nirejseki, robininthelabyrinth (nirejseki)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Detective Noir, F/M, M/M, Polyamorous Character, Sort Of, brief glimpse of writer!Mick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/robininthelabyrinth
Summary: Leonard Snart is used to being pursued.Just -Not usually by reporters.





	The Big Chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pretzel_logic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzel_logic/gifts).



"Persistence stops being a virtue after a while," Len says to the air, letting himself slouch back against the alley wall. It's an alley like most alleys in Central City: dull brick wet and gleaming a little with the remnants a recent rainshower, a pile of trash and cardboard boxes in the corner next to the dumpsters, the dumpy old sign signifying the entrance to the dive bar. 

There's no response.

Len glances down the alley towards the main street. The only living thing in sight is a brown cat nosing at some of the cardboard with a resigned expression. 

Good. She's learned something, at least.

"I mean that," Len adds. "Miss West."

Another few moments of silence.

And then, an audible groan as the intrepid journalist unfolds herself from her well-secured position behind the dumpster.

"Okay," Iris says. "I'll bite. How'd you know to find me this time?"

Len arches his eyebrows. "You're the one following _me_ , Miss West."

She crosses her arms. "Not an explanation."

"Never said I was giving you one."

"Is all this _really_ easier than just giving me an interview?" she asks.

"You've gotten all the scoops you could possibly want, these last few months," Len points out. "There's no reason for you to stay so focused on me."

Iris snorts. "The only reason I got those other scoops, as you call them, is because you figured out you could reliably lose me by luring me somewhere where there was a more juicy story to distract me."

Len shrugs. She's not wrong. 

"Besides, given how good the scoops you've been tossing me, like breadcrumbs to the ducks -"

"They prefer rice," Len interjects. "Or peas. Bread isn't that healthy for them."

"...right. Well, metaphors aside – also, you like ducks? – _anyway_ , you've been throwing me stories so hot that half of them have to _wait their turn_ to get exposed because they’re all front-page quality, and given Central City's usual indifference to the news, that's saying something."

"So?"

"That means you're a lot more connected than you let on," Iris says, pinning him with her remarkably penetrating stare. "You knew exactly what you were leading me to, which means you knew what was going on - you _know_ what's going on. Totally unrelated parts of the criminal underworld, and you know them all. If your goal was to get me off your tail, Snart, you've been going about it the wrong way. Before, you were just another public interest Flash-related bio piece that my editor thought would make me shut up for a while. Now? Now it's _personal_. I'm going to get into that head of yours one way or another."

Len considers this for a long moment. "Yes," he finally says. 

Iris looks taken aback. "What?"

"Yes," Len repeats, letting a smirk stretch over his face. "I like ducks."

And then he turns and walks out of the alley, leaving an aggravated journalist glaring holes into his back. 

Really, he thinks to himself; Iris really should've known better than to think he'd actually give her a straight answer. Not only wasn't he fond of them in the best of times, he was _certainly_ not inclined to give her any reason to feel like that this little _personal_ quest of hers is all wrapped up.

 _After all_ , he thinks with a smirk as he disappears down another alleyway before Iris can catch up with him. _I've never been chased by a journalist before._

* * *

Iris West might be a journalist now, but when she was a kid she wanted to be a detective. 

A pretty epic fight with her dad, featuring two months of the silent treatment (accompanied, as always, by Barry's wide-eyed puppy-dog stare silently pleading for them to make up), six interviews with current detectives intent on scaring her away from the job (at her dad's request), and three tours of the scarier parts of the precinct (same), eventually put paid to her ambitions.

It's fine. They weren't the sort of detective she secretly wanted to be, anyway, not really, what with the boring paperwork and the routine patrols and, _shudder_ , the traffic direction. 

No, what Iris _wanted_ to be a detective straight out of a good noir crime drama. 

She'll never tell her dad that the real reason she agreed not to join police academy is because Barry pointed out that a private investigator's license was a lot cheaper and easier to hide from disapproving parents, and anyway all the cool noir leads were PIs, weren’t they?

(He's right. She's had her license since she turned twenty one, and it’s been _awesome_.)

Honestly, that’s why she’d first gotten into the whole Flash thing in the first place - crime-fighting! mysteries! - but it eventually turned into something that was a lot more superhero-and-the-damsel-in-distress-journalist than she really prefers. Iris West is a protagonist, damnit, not a love interest. 

Anyway, now that she discovered it's _Barry_ behind the Flash mask, the shine has _really_ worn off - it's totally cheating to report stuff you're literally working on as a hobby, no matter what Team Flash tries to say. She’s not going into reporting just to be Team Flash’s public relations mouthpiece, thank you very much, and that's even if you put aside the ethical issues involved in not reporting her relationship with the person she’s reporting on. She can’t pretend to be objectively reporting on her own husband without disclosure! She signed a contract including ethical guidelines explicitly prohibiting that!

So yeah, that’s out. 

But this?

This is _even better_.

It really did just start as a basic biography piece - her bosses asked her, again, for a piece on a "famous super figure", by which they really meant the Flash, and she'd decided that she'd interview a Rogue instead out of sheer spite. Barry always said there was good in Snart, and anyway that he'd promised not to hurt any of Barry's friends, so she'd decided to try her luck with him first.

(Barry'd just signed and said it was better than her trying to interview King Shark or something.)

Snart, who had not been consulted in this decision, has been ditching her next to more interesting stories ever since.

And not just interesting-bio-about-supers-and-metas stuff like what she's largely gotten pigeonholed writing, either. _Real_ stories, _meaty_ stories - corruption, sex, and blackmail in the mayor's office; a brewing gang war being urged on by outside forces intent on taking advantage of the chaos; a new drug distributor with a nasty plan to replace one of the Families...

Iris has been buried in work, real proper journalist work of the sort even her bosses at the CCPN have started recognizing the merit of, and she's never been happier. 

And it's all thanks to Leonard Snart.

Well, not _all_ thanks. Let's be clear about that. One of the things she's learned to appreciate in these last few months has been Snart's respect for her intelligence. He doesn't feed her stories to publish, no - he drops her into the deep end right next to _just enough_ information for her to be able to puzzle out the rest of it herself. And even then there's all the hard work of making it ready for publication: fact-checking and cross-confirmations and _evidence_. The tough meat of journalist work, the hard slog, the stuff that makes it difficult but ultimately all worthwhile.

And that's all _hers_. 

Okay, maybe not _all_ hers. There was definitely one article series that she'd gotten stymied on that ended up getting a serious boost when _someone_ slipped a folder stolen from the mayor's own private safe under her door, just when she was starting to go stir crazy from not leaving her tiny little office for a week.

Getting that folder had enabled her to finish the articles and get back out there again (after sleeping for a day), so it looks like she's not the only one enjoying their little chase through the city.

His city. 

_Her_ city.

Damn if this whole set up isn't just out of one of those old noir books that she loves so much, and Iris West, for one, is downright giddy about it.

(He calls her Miss West, every time, even now that she’s officially Ms. West-Allen, but the way he drawls it makes it sound like Philip Marlowe talking about the dame in the red dress and, uh, yeah, Iris is embarrassingly into it.)

So, yeah. She's not going to lie: this whole thing is working for her. Professionally, personally...

There's only one issue.

"Have you see Snart lately?" she asks Barry.

"You have a problem," he replies.

"I do not," she insists. "Also, do _not_ tell Dad."

"I already promised that I wouldn't!" Barry squawks. She studies his face, but it lacks the squirreliness and guilt that usually accompanies one of his I-spilled-the-beans-but-don't-want-to-confess moments. "Serious, Iris, I wouldn't. Even if we weren't married, we’ve got that mutually assured destruction on each other, remember?"

"Very true. Speaking of which, how _is_ that thing with Rory going?" Iris asks, distracted. She was only a little surprised when she found Barry and the arsonist curled up after a joint Flash-Legends party - she's always been aware that Barry's type is basically "Iris West" for girls and big, muscular, redeemed bad guys for boys, with a distinct preference for one of each if at all possible - but she is a little surprised at how it seemed to _keep_ happening. 

She's glad, let's be clear. Barry needs someone, and Rory's remarkably funny and, god, _so much better_ than some of Barry's previous choices - cough, _Tony Woodward_ , cough - that she's all in favor.

Dad is never, ever being told, of course.

Personally, she's just delighted the whole thing is working out the way they'd planned – sure, she and Barry make a kickass pair together, they’re in love, they’re happy, they’re even _married_ now, which, wow, but the “sooooo we’re definitely going to be polyamorous, right?” conversation happened _really_ early in their relationship for a reason. Not just because they're both wired that way and proud about it (except for Dad, who, again, does not need to ever know) but also because there is exactly zero chance that Iris is going to deal with Barry’s “oh sorry I’m so late oops I need to go do Flash stuff” crap _every single time_ she wants to go on a date and because Barry sometimes wants to be picked up and tossed around in a way that Iris is physically unequipped to do. 

So they both agreed that each of them would be free to find their own boyfriends.

Besides, if they _didn’t_ have other boyfriends, they’d probably end up killing each other and they know it. One of the benefits of growing up best friends: they’re at a great level of self-awareness.

Extra plus: at the mention of Rory, Barry squeaks and turns red and it is _adorable_. If getting married means that you’re no longer being able to tease your best friend about his stupid crushes and his even more adorable fail-whale attempts at dating, what’s even the _point?_ You're not supposed to give up your favorite hobbies just because you get married!

"C'mon," Iris wheedles. "Your boyfriend -" She's making an assumption there, but she doesn't think she's wrong. "- is probably my best lead on knowing where Snart is."

"I feel like you're using me to gratify your crush," he whines, but not really.

Also -

"I do _not_ have a crush on Snart!"

"Sure," Barry says agreeably. Too agreeably. "Neither do I."

"Barry!"

"You know about my thing for golden-hearted bad guys!"

"You already have Rory! Hands off Snart!"

"Because Snart's yours?" Barry asks sweetly.

"Because he’s my _project_ ," Iris says firmly.

"You mean your _crush_ \- ouch! Stop hitting me! This is spousal abuse! Help, help, I'm being oppressed!"

"Bartholomew Henry Allen!"

"Fine, fine!" he exclaims, laughing. "I'll stop teasing."

" _And_ you'll get your boyfriend to tell me where he is."

"Mick's with the Legends," Barry argues. "Why would he know?"

"Best friends for thirty years not enough for you?"

"I hope we end up like that one day," Barry says. "Maybe with fewer fist-fights."

Iris holds up a fist pointedly.

"...which of course is not to sidestep the main point, which is that Mick might know where Snart is likely to be lurking, and I should get right on asking him?"

"That's why I love you, Barry. You're so perceptive."

"Why can't you use your investigative journalist mad skillz -"

"Oh god, I can _hear_ you pronouncing the 'z', you grammatically incorrect monster."

"- to find him, anyhow? And don't be down on the skillz. All the cool kidz are doing it nowadayz."

Iris is laughing. She shouldn't be - it'll only encourage him - but she is. " _No one_ is doing it," she says. "No one. You're going to be as bad as Dad one day."

Barry grins unashamedly at her. 

"And the answer is that I've tried," she adds. "I've tried all the usual spots, all the places he frequents, and I've come up with nothing. Not even the _unusual_ places. No one's seen or heard anything from him for a week."

"Maybe he's left town?"

"No, he hasn't gotten his bartender to pick up his mail and water his plants -"

"Hold up a second: Water his plants? _Snart_?"

"Shut up, you have no place to talk; they're apparently _Mick's_ tomato plants - and since when do we call him Mick, huh, buster? - but anyway there's a whole bunch of stuff he does when he leaves town and he hasn't done it."

"And you know this how, exactly?" Barry teases. "That wouldn't make it into any journal article I can think of."

Iris swats him. "Not the point," she says. "The point is, you’re going to help me find him."

* * *

Len is, as a general rule, inclined towards patience. His profession is one that requires as much careful balance as a tightrope walker's act, and the dire maw of arrest and prison time lay open beneath him should he fail to keep that balance. He found the thrill of a job perfectly executed to be exhilarating and rewarding well beyond the mere money he collected at the end.

Mick, in contrast, always preferred jobs that ran hot and went poorly, enjoying the chaos and confusion that went with it and the sheer force brutality that was needed to fix it at the end despite all odds. 

That's probably why he was still with the Legends, even now that Len's back for real this time. 

After all, Len got everything he wanted out of the trip - there is no question that he's the baddest motherfucker in the whole damn universe now, and there's an entire green-clad stellar police force out there that knows it - and he wanted to go home after a hard-won resurrection, but Mick was still having fun picking up the Legends' pieces and Len was happy that his partner seemed to be happy, enough that he very pointedly refused Mick’s repeated offers to go back to Central with him.

The shovel talk Len'd given each of the Legends had assured that Mick would _continue_ to be happy. Maybe Len didn't really need to go into such grisly detail for each of them, but he did want to make sure there weren't any incorrect assumptions as to the level of respect Mick ought to receive.

Washed-up bank robbers, huh? Fuck that.

Sara still flinches at random sometimes, in a way that suggests she's still chewing over his threats. He's very proud.

It helps to have Gideon on his side and reporting to him, too.

Really, there's only one downside to their current split, which was interspersed with frequent visits and check-ins the way many of their other splits weren't, and that's the fact that Len really could use someone watching his back sometimes.

Say, when he got jumped by some puffed-up assholes thinking that they were going to be the new power players in town and just smart enough to realize that Len was somehow involved with it.

Not smart enough to realize exactly _how_ , of course, but enough to capture him and throw him in a cell with threats and a handful of beatings Len would've scoffed at when he was _twelve_. 

They keep threatening to escalate to actual torture, but they're too busy fighting wars on multiple fronts to really commit to it. 

Honestly, the lack of forward planning some people had...

Either way, Len had just about worked out a decent escape plan that did _not_ rely on calling for backup - that would be embarrassing - when the door to his cell opened and Iris ‘The Goddamn Pest’ West got thrown in.

"Uh," she says. "Hi?"

Len sighs.

He waits for the door to close behind her, and then asks, “Tell me, Miss West, are we expecting any _quick_ back-up on your side?”

“Uh,” she says.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Len says. “Good.”

“Good?”

“That means you’ve been thrown in here because you were asking questions about me where you shouldn’t have been,” Len explains. “That’s fine.”

Iris arches her eyebrows at him. “It is, is it?” she asks. “How’s that?”

“Better than you being tossed in here because they think you’re interesting for any _other_ reason. Say, your _running_ habits.”

“…point,” she concedes. 

“How did you find me, out of curiosity?” He hadn’t been near any of his most common digs recently, even before this whole capture-and-imprisonment thing.

“I had Barry ask Rory, and he told me to try further out,” Iris says. “Over by the slums near the river – I caught a lead there, and followed it out to here, and, well…”

Len nods, resigned. She's a very good journalist, which is why he likes her, but damn if she wasn't sometimes a bit _too_ good.

“Why _did_ they throw me in here?” she asks. “I’ve got to admit, mobsters in this city are not normally this hard up on journalists.”

“That’s because they think we’re having an affair,” Len says dryly. “Us spending so much time together and all.” 

She flushes, which is interesting. 

_Very_ interesting.

“ _Are_ we having an affair?” he asks, curious now. "I feel like I should know if we are."

“No! We're not!”

“Because I’m not into infidelity, but I’ve got no objections to polyamory,” Len continues. “And I know your husband’s shacked up with my partner –”

“Who’d have thought, right?”

“I know!” Len says, maybe a bit more effusively than his cool-headed reputation was usually inclined to be. In his defense, he’s been wanting to talk about this shocking development with someone other than Lisa (who didn’t care) for _ages_. “I knew he’d developed a thing for twinks with an altruistic bent, but…”

“I would’ve figured Ray Palmer,” Iris agrees.

“Same,” Len says ruefully. “They were getting cozy before I – uh – left, and then when I come back, Ray’s shacked up with the new guy and Mick’s making eyes at the – at _Barry_.”

“Who’s making eyes _back_.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“I mean, Barry’s always had a bit of a thing for bad boys with hearts of gold –”

“I know,” Len says with a smirk.

“Stop that,” she says, pointing at him. “No flirting with my husband. Not even by proxy.”

“Hey,” Len objects. “Why does Mick get to and I don’t?”

“Barry already _has_ Mick,” Iris replies, crossing her arms. “No fair getting two when I don’t even have one yet.”

Len loses the battle to keep from grinning. “So what you’re saying is if I want in on this, the way is through you, huh?”

Iris sticks out her tongue at him.

“Careful,” he purrs. “Some people might take that as an offer.”

“Not in a dark, dank, dirty cell they don’t,” she shoots back, which isn’t a _no_.

More of a 'consider asking at another time'.

Len can do that.

“Well, then,” Len drawls, feeling his pulse start to race with the same adrenaline he gets when walking that most delicate of lines on his jobs. “I guess it’s time for us to bust out of here, ain’t it?”

The light isn’t great in the cell, but he can still see how Iris’ eyes shine with excitement. “Sounds about right to me,” she replies, the slightest hint of a Central City drawl in her voice, too. “Assuming, that is, that you’ve got a plan.”

“My dear Miss West,” Len replies, reaching out and brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers, watching her shiver a little in anticipation. “Don’t you know that I’ve _always_ got a plan?”

Her smile is bright in the darkness of the room. “I was counting on that.”

It occurs to him that maybe this will go even better than he expected.

* * *

"So Mick gave me one of his manuscripts to read," Len says. 

"Oh?" Iris asks, curled up and drawing figurines on his bare chest. She was secretly-maybe-not-so-secretly gloating that she'd finally gotten him comfortable enough with her to not immediately put his shirt back on. Or, for that matter, to take it off in the first place... "The one that he had trouble finishing because the sight of Mick Rory in glasses and typing on an antique-style typewriter does strange things to one Barry Allen?"

"That's the one," Len agrees with a smirk. "Who knew the Flash had such caveman tendencies? Or that they were sparked by people looking like college professors?"

Iris snorts. "It's not that. He just loves the touch of softness it gives him."

"Yeah," Len says. "And that's why I gave Mick a nice, soft sweater to wear and insisted he try it out at least once for me."

"Is _that_ where Barry disappeared off to in his usual flash of light?"

"I sent him a text."

"Barry Allen's mysterious disappearance: explained."

Len laughs. "Yeah. But it does mean that Mick expects me to read it while he's otherwise occupied."

Iris pouts. "But _you're_ otherwise occupied."

"Not _anymore_ , I ain't." He rolls over and grabs the thick pile of paper lying on the sideboard, then settles back in. "Unless you ain't interested in hearing it...?"

"I'm always up for storytime," Iris agrees, though she's a bit puzzled. Len wasn't exactly known for wanting to read her things in bed. They usually had better things to be doing - or arguing about. "Though old-style sci-fi erotica isn't entirely my thing..."

"Oh, this isn't that," Len says cheerfully. _Suspiciously_ cheerfully. "Mick decided to try out another genre."

"Okaaaaay...?"

Len unfurls the manuscript and starts reading:

_Bernard Ark knew a dangerous dame when he saw one, and there was no more dangerous a dame than this: Magnolia North, better known as Mag, except people that knew her well enough to see past that pretty flower exterior usually joked that it was short for 'Pistol Magazine'._

_She certainly left enough shells in her wake to justify it._

_The nominal secretary and true brain behind her own PI unit, Mag was as tough as steel and twice as ballsy, with half a dozen policemen in her pocket and a team of brainpower and muscle sufficient to get any job done._

_What Ark didn't know, though, is why she was walking into his office._

_That she'd figured out that he was the real crime lord in these parts was no surprise, but he'd thought they'd reached a tacit agreement: he keeps the drugs out and sees to it that the mollys get taken care of, and she leaves him be..._

_"What can I do you for, Miss North?" Ark asked, letting a smirk form even as his mind raced to figure out her angle._

_"Cut the crap, Ark," Mags said, putting a hand down on his desk and staring him in the eye. "I'm not here to pull your tail, and I'd appreciate it if you took a break from chasing mine."_

_Ark nodded, though he had to admit hers was a mighty fine one, and a shame to give up. "Then why are you here?" he asked, his tone going serious._

_Her eyes narrowed, but then she pulled away her hand, revealing a crumpled up note._

_"I'm here," she said, "because I need your help. My fiancé's been taken."_

_"Taken?" Ark asked, his voice sharp. Taken, in_ his _city? On_ his _turf? Without having cleared it with him first, when all and one knew of his special interest in Northway Investigations? "What do you mean, taken...?"_

_"I take it I've caught your interest."_

_"Oh, my dear Mag, you've always had that..."_


End file.
